Chapter Text
Death had existed just as long as Life. They were two sides of the same coin, one half of the same whole. One could not exist without the other. Together they watched; they watched as things grew and withered, rose and fell.
Humans were a part of that.
Curious little things that seemed to survive everything despite their circumstances. Death and Life watched them intently, seeing different civilizations rise and fall with the turning of time. Humans conquered their planet, and the two of them grew fond of the tenacious species.
Life was the first to gain a name, and the first to interact with the humans. Death watched from the shadows, just as Death always did. Even as Life’s human body fell into stillness and their followers wept, Death watched. Life could not be killed, Death knew. Not while there was anything still living. The same as Death could not disappear so long as there was something left to pass on.
So they continued to watch the humans. Though Life was no longer on Earth. After his “death” he remained away—staying beyond the humans, but still watching. Death liked to watch his followers. Some were scared of death, so they praised Life. Most of them had no reason to worry needlessly, but some…well, Life and Death had never claimed to be fully impartial. Life had held Death off for a fair few humans before. Death just found it amusing, and let the healed humans continue on through time.
Centuries passed before Death’s eyes. The rise of electronics had been surprising. The wars behind the technology, however, were not. Then the rise of superpowers had been a new flavor of complicated, though the ensuing discrimination and fighting was—once again—not. Humans always seemed to find some excuse to kill one another. And they did not always learn from their mistakes.
And yet they still survived, still prospered. They lived and they died and Death got to see it all. Century after century Death witnessed both humanity’s cruelty and kindness. It would be enough to drive any mortal mad.
But Death was not mortal, so Death watched.
The rise of quirks was not a smooth one. Destruction followed in the wake of the new powers, and Death had no choice but to follow. Death did not have to touch every soul to reap it, to send it away from Earth, but Death was still there to witness ones that fought. The ones that howled and raged against their fate with their dying breath. Some accepted what had become of them, but others decided to fight Death as well.
There was a reason the humans had an image of the Grim Reaper with a scythe.
Death did not get attached—not like Life did. Everything died, and Death was there to send it away. Death could not visit the once-living. Not that Death had really tried to visit before, there was no reason to. Death’s job was not done. With no attachments—besides a brother that Death still saw on occasion—there was no reason to.
But everything ends, and Death got attached.
They had met at the top of a bridge. The road had been empty, streetlights dim, and a few stars visible over their heads. Death had stopped and stood on the asphalt. There was a single life, one little human, sitting on the railing of the bridge, leaning farther over the water Death knew was very far and very deep.
Death did not know why they had done it, but Death allowed themself to fall into their physical form. Death was human only in shape, though that too was out of choice. Death’s skin was black as the night sky, dotted with stars like human freckles. Their hair was a shifting cloud of space dust, and Death had eyes of swirling galaxies. They were taller than most humans, but Death liked it that way. Easier to see over them in crowds.
Death’s intentionally heavy footsteps were enough to make the human look up. They exchanged no words, but Death leaned against the railing beside the human. The night sky glimmered overhead.
“You do not want to die,” Death said, mindful of how loud the words were to human ears.
“How would you know?”
Death simply shrugged. “I do not. Why don’t you tell me why though?”
The human had eyed Death warily, but they spoke all the same.
It had simply spiraled from there. After they had gotten off the railing and off the bridge, Death saw the human again—and again, and again, and again. And Death revealed themself every time. The human’s name was Alex, and Alex liked Death…for some reason. They gave Death a better understanding of the world, and a name.
Amara. The irony held in the meaning of the name had not escaped Death.
She had never had a name before. There were names for death of course, such as Thanatos or the Grim Reaper, but Death had never had a name. And now, she did. Amara had never felt an emotion quite like the one that bubbled up when Alex spoke the name they had bestowed upon her.
Time passed, as it always did. Amara never left Alex, and Alex never left Amara. Death learned what it was to have a family. A family made of one human and varying animals and plants, but a family nonetheless.
Alex taught Amara what it was to love.
But her human was not immortal like Amara was. They grew older. Though even as they aged, and Amara did not, they still stayed. They knew who she was—her human was smart—and still they stayed.
It was still heartachingly painful though, seeing Alex age while Amara stayed the same. She was eternal, everlasting. Death would not disappear until the last of life had as well. Souls still passed and were guided on, even without Amara’s interference, but until every last trace of life was gone, she would continue to exist on Earth.
Alex was not immortal, but that didn’t mean Amara would leave. No, she would spend every second she could with her person, enjoying the life she had come cherished. Even as time marched on and Alex grew into what they called “an old bat,” Amara still believed them to be the most beautiful person she had ever seen.
Amara took over caring for their plants and animals eventually. For being death itself, she was surprisingly good with the living things. Alex never failed to jokingly blame Amara for a dead leaf falling from their plants though. It was a joke they had both been making for fifty years.
Eventually though, their time came to an end.
Alex asked her to promise something. They asked Amara to stay in the world, and to do good. She was still Death, but Alex didn’t want her retreating from the world again. Not when she could help others like she had helped Alex.
(“You’ll keep your promise, right?” The glimmering soul asked Death, just as unafraid in passing as they were in life.
“I will,” Amara whispered softly, pressing her forehead to the soul’s transparent hand she had clutched in her own physical ones. “I swear it.”
Amara saw Alex smile, before they faded into something beyond Earth)
So Amara stayed. She took care of their pets and plants and visited all around the world. She reaped souls and sent them with words to her person, hoping the messages would reach them. Above all, she kept her promise. Amara visited the nearby town and the aging market vendors. She handed out candy to the schoolchildren on Halloween, since her home was too far for them to walk. She tried foods from every country and wrote it all down to one day tell Alex.
She kept her name too. Amara cherished it above all else as another one hundred and fifty years passed. Quirks grew in that time, becoming common instead of a rarity. It became the opposite, really. Those without quirks dwindled in number. A shame, really. She would miss when humans weren’t messing up their society with destructive superpowers nearly every day.
But in one hundred and fifty years, Amara did not become attached to another person. Animals and plants, sure, but never another person. No one would replace Alex. No one could.
Until a green ball of excitable sunshine appeared, that is.
Amara had been in a park in Japan, enjoying the calm atmosphere while sitting on a bench. She had looked up to see a child staring at her. He couldn’t have been much older than four, with big eyes that held infinite pools of curiosity in them and wild green hair. It reminded her of Alex, though the boy’s hair color was natural. Perhaps vestiges of a plant quirk.
He smiled when he caught Amara’s eye, obviously happy with being noticed.
“You’re very pretty!” He told Amara, with her star speckled skin and eyes that held galaxies in them. Eyes that could drive a man insane if she chose to. “What’s your quirk? It must be a really cool one, since you’re so pretty!”
Amara just smiled, her hands resting in her lap. “I have no quirk, little one, though my powers are similar to some. Would you like to see one of them?”
“Yes please!”
Amara chuckled, before reaching into the air beside her. A scythe appeared, made of shifting existence and pieces from the heart of a collapsing star. The weapon was bigger than the boy was tall. And yet he still stared at it with awe in his eyes, almost reaching out to try and touch it before thinking better of it.
“What is your name, child?” Amara asked kindly.
“Midoriya Izuku!” The boy chirped. “What’s yours?”
“Amara.”
“That’s a nice name!”
“Why thank you.” Amara glanced up at the sun, mentally converting the time. “I am afraid I have to go, little one. You go have fun, alright?”
“I will! Thank you for showing me your cool sword thing!”
Amara watched as the boy took off towards the park’s playset again, a small smile on her face. It had been a while since there had been a child brave enough to approach her, let alone ask her about her “quirk.” The boy had seemed curious as well, not skeptical. Midoriya Izuku would be a name worth remembering, it seemed.
With the boy gone, Amara took her scythe and cut a rift through the air, and stepped through it onto the other side. A house greeted her, the one Alex and her had shared for so long. Animals immediately twirled around her ankles, begging to be given food and attention.
Amara hummed as she fed her various pets, resolving to visit the park again at some point. Soon too, since occasionally time slipped away from her. Being immortal tended to make five years feel like five days. She had long since broken that forgetfulness to care for her living things, but days were finicky little buggers when one could instantly be across the planet.
It ended up being a few weeks later that Amara returned to the park. It was peaceful there, a change from the busy city she had been in minutes before, but a welcome one. She may have accidentally fallen asleep against a tree. Sleep may not be something Death physically needed, but it was nice all the same.
She woke up to a small hand tapping her shoulder. Amara awoke slowly, cracking open her eyes to see who had woken her up and silently hoping she hadn’t just slept in a park for over a day. That had been an interesting thing to explain to a human in England once.
But there was no worried adult this time. Instead Amara laid her eyes on the same green-haired child from before. Midoriya Izuku, she remembered. He appeared different though. Amara tilted her head at the boy, noting that he didn’t seem to be sparking excitement and joy like last time. No, now he looked subdued, dull like a scratched up gem.
“Are you ok?” He asked her quietly.
“It seems like I should be asking you that,” she responded. “Something happened.”
Izuku hesitated, but nodded.
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“If- if it wouldn’t bother you?”
“I am here to listen, young one, what’s troubling you?”
Izuku sat down beside Amara, twirling the grass in front of him in little hands. “I- I’m quirkless, and- and Kacchan says- says I’m useless and that I c-can’t be a hero.”
Tears dripped onto the dirt, Izuku’s small frame shaking in sobs. Amara swept the boy to her side, quietly calming him down. Quirklessness was becoming rarer, and with it came consequences. Humans seemed to never truly change in some ways. They would still be cruel towards the minority.
“Oh darling,” Amara sighed softly. “It’s alright. You are not useless without a quirk, I promise you that.”
“B-but Kacchan said-“
“Kacchan is a child like you, yes?” Izuku nodded, albeit hesitantly. “Then he does not know better. I have seen many, many lives, and being quirkless does not mean you are useless. Did you know there was a time when no one had quirks?”
“There- there was?” Izuku sniffled, his tears subsiding.
“A long time ago, yes. Humans did many great things in that time. There was bad, of course, but they still thrived. You said you wanted to be a hero, Izuku?”
“Y-yes,” he whispered, as though she might berate him for his dream.
Instead, Amara smiled at the little boy in her arms. “Then you will be an amazing one. Think of it this way, little one, you have no quirk to interfere with any support equipment. And what would you have done with a quirk? If it doesn’t enhance your physical prowess, you would still need to train. Without a quirk you just have one less aspect to worry about.”
“But what if- what if I need a quirk? What if I could save someone if I had one…”
“You can save people just as well without one, and there were many before you that did just that. You can be a hero, Izuku.”
“You really…you really think I can?”
“Of course, little one. All you need to be a hero is the drive to help, and you already seem to have that.”
“I want to be like All Might!” Izuku chirped excitedly, sadness seemingly forgotten. “He saved- he saved so many people! I want to be like that, I want to save as many people as All Might one day.”
“That is a noble goal. Do you want to go to UA too?”
“Yes! I’m gonna go there, and- and be the best hero ever.”
Amara smiled at the determination on the child’s face, expression bright once more. She truly did believe Izuku would go far. He had the potential to be one of the best heroes, so long as his dream was encouraged. Amara had seen vigilantes, villains, and heroes alike rise to their fates. Izuku already had something some of them did not; he wanted to save people.
With the child happy once again, Amara heaved herself to her feet. Izuku turned to her, still smiling, the fire of his dream stoked once more. She knew he would be something amazing, no matter what that turned out to be.
“I have to go now, little one, but I will return.” Amara knelt down, lowering her head to be nearly eye-level with the kid. “Do not let anyone tell you that you can’t be a hero, alright? You can be anything you want to be. It may take more work, but you can do it. Do you understand?”
“I do!” Izuku beamed up at her. “Thank you, Amara-san!”
Amara just smiled, standing to her full height again. She ruffled Izuku’s hair before summoning her scythe. With one fluid movement, she cut a portal into the air and disappeared through it. She was back home in two steps.
It was only later that Amara stopped what she was doing—having caught herself musing whether Izuku’s mother would be opposed to Death giving food to her son—and realized she had accidentally gotten attached again.
Well, shit.